


They Don't Know

by GammaCavy



Category: DragonFable
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-12
Updated: 2015-08-12
Packaged: 2018-04-14 10:12:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4560654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GammaCavy/pseuds/GammaCavy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Oh, my friends, you think you know me, but you refuse to see what's in front of you. I feel my lips curve into a wolfish smile. My bonded partner is the dragon of destruction, and my enemies are about to find out what that means. The musings of the Hero, before a battle.</p>
            </blockquote>





	They Don't Know

You don't know. You think you know me, but you don't. Oh my friends, Artix, Rolith, Vilmor, Galanoth, you fail to see it. Ridane, Zhoom, Izaac, you know me, but you don't understand. Tomix came the closest to understanding me, though Warlic and Cysero know better than they seem, but will not see it all. I am prophesied, and though I have saved Lore, the meanings of the prophecy still hang over our heads, but you will not see it. The words of an old song run thorough my mind now, fitting me better than I would wish, and as I sit here where Drakath fell, and again the Dracolich, gazing at the rubble of the old tower, I find myself re-writing them.

Who was it had the Frostmourne made? The hero, and for what.   
Who is it bears the Terat? I do, and for what?  
Who was it broke the judgement wheel? I did, and for what?   
Who stands between the day and night, who walks the edge, the dim twilight?  
Who brings the gloom from night to day, who held the shadowscythe at bay?  
There were more lines, but I cannot remember them, my thoughts in turmoil as I weave the thread into the desired shape. They do not see, or think to wonder why I do what I must. What drives me?

At the moment?

Vengeance.

Though I bear the Brand of Glory in remembrance of the lives lost in Sepulcher’s attack, and though I fight for good, my hand closes more often upon the weapons of darkness and doom. My compassion and love are praised, and some say that my compassion is also my bane, for my forgiveness will be taken advantage of. They don’t get it. How hard I fight to be nice, for what use has this world for a hero who doesn’t know when to stop?

But for some, my forgiveness has run out, as I think on what has been done while I could do nothing, and even the news that Janiaa is not entirely to blame does not still my wrath.

I just have a new target.

I still remember the words of Donovan, called Frostscythe, and his boasts as he held Cryozen’s power. The full power of the plane of Ice and Frost? And yet, Donovan, you fell to my hand. Me, not Vilmor. Vilmor may land the final blow, but I was the one who set you running, who —with the aid of my companion— slew the dragon you enslaved, the great dragon of Ice. Alone, I brought down Akriloth, empowered by the great orb of his element, and you thought that Cryozen, weakened and resentful, could bring me down when my companion and I were together? Greed fell to my hand, though becoming human made him more a threat, it also rendered him mortal, and thus, he fell. I have brought down Xan, when he was imbued with all the power of a volcano! To me, the queen of the chaosweavers fell! The only reason I did not free myself from the ice is that it healed over as quickly as I could destroy it, and to call on more power would have proven dangerous for me.

I am not a mage. I am not a silent killer. I am a Rifter and SoulWeaver, and the latter is often overlooked. There is a reason SoulWeavers have so much magic, and I am no exception. Weaving takes magic, and, more finesse than many mages use. Now, I weave a simple scarf, on an ordinary loom. It calms me, and after everything I now know, I need that. What use have I for wild rage, when focus is what I need? Rage rules me as much as it empowers me, if I use it. Much better the cold, long drawn out, wrath and destruction. Today I smile. Tomorrow, the war shall begin, and perhaps they will finally see my other face. 

Beside me, my companion worms his way under my hand, begging and whiffling for a scratch. His demeanor and personality are so cheerful and loyal, that they forget what he is, as they refuse to see what I am. He is not bound to an element, but changes his alignment at will for what best opposes our enemy. Chaoticly, as befits the dragon prophesied to destroy the planet. Fluffy is gone, the planet actually a planet sized dracolich, and my dragon returned to his young, cute form.   
My Veritas.  
Think you that he and I are weak because of his violet wings? Because his name means truth? Veritas Violet-Wing they call him, and cheer us when we fly by, or when he eats beside me on a journey. Truth he is, as am I. Veritas. Truth. So harmless. Veritas, the Truth that destroys, dragon of chaos and destruction, bringer of the end. To save, there must first be a threat to destroy. Veritas is the dragon of destruction. What them, am I, his bonded partner? I am heroic, and I love this world, and would not see it destroyed. _But that does not mean I cannot destroy._ I am the rider of Veritas Violet-Wing, the Truth that destroys, light of destruction.   
  
I feel my lips curve into a wolfish smile. My bonded partner is the dragon of destruction, and my enemies are about to find out what that means.   
  
Valtrith, you have gone too far, and soon, I will come for you, and you will see the face my friends cannot see. Frydae, you have woken destruction. Now come to meet it. Akanthus, count your lies. I am coming, with destruction at my side, and death in my hands.

**Author's Note:**

> So it occurred to me as I was replaying the Vilmor saga that the adventurer is partnered with, bound to, and a fitting match for the dragon of destruction. These are some ramblings on the matter. Basically, the Hero is destructive, but only to threats. Constructive destruction. I guess a mild concussion can be helpful when the wanderings of a mind spark a story.


End file.
